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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27925399">Alibi</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aces_mild/pseuds/aces_mild'>aces_mild</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU - Mafiafell, AU - Mafiatale, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, I've lost track - Freeform, Idiots in Love, Lack of Communication, Mutual Pining, Reader is a mage, Reader-Insert, Sans kills people for a living, Self-Insert, au - underfell, is that what we're calling it now?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:41:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,881</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27925399</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aces_mild/pseuds/aces_mild</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You're Sans's girl. Or, at least, you're pretending to be. You want more, but you're not sure if you want all the danger that comes with dating a member of the Monster Mafia...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sans (Undertale)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>90</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Alibi</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s a typical Thursday night at Grillby’s, with you and the rest of the regulars winding down for the night. While the bar is open to both humans and monsters, its clientele consists mostly of the latter. Humans wander in from the street now and again, but none of them stay for very long. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You’re the exception, showing up every week like clockwork for ‘date night’ with your partner in crime. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You watch the hounds play a game of billiards while you wait for him to arrive, nursing a magic-infused cocktail that makes your throat tingle pleasantly on the way down. It tastes </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> the way seeing the first blooms of spring feels, and you wonder for the thousandth time why humans outlawed consumable magic.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Such a shame, that humans fear what they don’t understand. Oh well, more for me! </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To the casual onlooker, you seem perfectly relaxed - leaning your back against the bar, your legs crossed at the ankles, reading the news on your phone. You maintain that calm facade even as the evening drags on. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Slowly, however, your anxiety begins to slip through the cracks. You’ve chewed your straw to the point of uselessness, and have to cross your legs fully to keep them from bouncing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Your companion may not be great at arriving on time, but he’s rarely </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> late. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Where the hell is he?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You set your phone down in favor of watching Dogaressa destroy her pack-mates at pool. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You want to search for him, but you know that any attempt at sensing his magic would be useless. He’s probably on the other side of the city right now, doing stars-know-what (it’s safer if you don’t know the details). Way too far outside magic perception for you to check on him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You swing an elbow up onto the counter and start tapping your fingers against the polished wood.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Half an hour passes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The hounds finish their game - Dogaressa receives a handful of dog treats from a grumbling Doggo - and they move to a booth near the bar. They start up a conversation about the good ol’ days underground, when there weren’t so many rules. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You tune them out, not keen on listening to them reminisce about being allowed to rip their fellow monsters limb from limb for disobeying the King’s will. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Things are different, now. Monsters have to play nice with humans, the King included. Or at least, they have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretend</span>
  </em>
  <span> to play nice. What goes on between Ebott City’s warring mafias, on the other hand...</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well. You certainly know nothing about that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You’re just a civilian, a museum curator in charge of the brand-new monster-specific section of the Ebott History Museum. Sure, you had some...connections. The former Queen knew you by name, having worked with you on designing, organizing, and implementing the new wing. Educating the masses on the war between humans and monsters was very important to her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Actually, she was the one who had introduced you to your date. He’d been invited to the grand opening of the new Monster History wing as a personal guest of Toriel’s, and she’d gone out of the way to introduce you. Thanks to a few drinks lowering your inhibitions, the two of you had really hit it off. You’d even gotten together a couple of times after, just to hang out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At the time, you’d had no idea what he did for a living. It wasn’t until months later, on a chilly winter night, that you’d found out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You were alone in the archives after hours, sorting through a collection of urns pre-dating the war. You were trying to figure out which ones contained human ashes and which held monster dust. It was quite important - the dust would have to be returned to the ancestors of the monsters whose dust they contained. It wasn’t right to keep remains in a place of learning.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, you’d felt the unmistakable sensation of magic nearby - an encounter. They were rare these days, with monsters usually choosing to settle things like humans. You could sense three magic signatures, each as distinct as a fingerprint. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>One of them was familiar, though you couldn’t quite place where you’d felt it before.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You had no intention of getting involved, but you did pay attention. You couldn’t help it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Over the course of about five minutes - during which you didn’t move, barely even breathing - two of the magic signatures vanished, leaving only the familiar one. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You’d expected the winner to clear out as fast as possible. There was no mistaking what had happened, though you tried not to think about it. They lingered, however, their magic dying down but remaining in the same spot. Finally, unable to return to your work due to the combination of curiosity and concern for this not-quite-stranger, you grabbed a box cutter and ventured out into the cold alleyway.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You propped open the back door and looked around the unlit space. You searched the darkness, and when your eyes caught sight of stark white bone, your breath caught in your throat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sans was...perhaps not the </span>
  <em>
    <span>last</span>
  </em>
  <span> person you’d expected to find there, but he certainly wasn’t at the top of the list. His brother would’ve been less surprising to you, as he was an abrasive monster prone to getting into (and winning) arguments. You could see his harsh words and pompous attitude getting him into this brand of trouble. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Your then-acquaintance was slumped against the brick siding of the museum, eye sockets dark. He’d looked unconscious, but when you’d reached out to shake him, he’d caught your wrist in a vice-grip. It had taken him a moment to recognize you. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’d let you go right away, apologizing, and had tried to stand. He’d stumbled into you, and you’d caught him, allowing him to lean on you as you helped him into the archives and out of the cold.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His only injury had been a crack along the back of his skull, a blow that had interrupted his magic. He couldn't go anywhere until it righted itself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As you stood there in front of him, he’d seemed...distant. Uncertain. Perhaps a bit disappointed? At that moment, he hadn’t been sure of what you would do now that you knew he was a killer.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Would you ask questions? Rat him out to authorities? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was bracing himself, just in case he had to kill you to keep you quiet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Silently, you’d held out your hands, palms up, and revealed your own secret. Healing magic, flaring to life at your fingertips, casting a calming green glow on the surrounding archives. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mages were rare in general, but for one to be here, thriving in the heart of Ebott...well, it was ridiculous. No Mage in their right might would set up shop in the center of such a crowded city, filled to the brim with creatures that hated them - humans that distrusted them and their mastery of magic, and monsters that loathed them for trapping them underground for eight hundred years. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You’d never claimed to be smart or sane. Just an honest person, trying to do the right thing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sans had literally laughed out loud at the reveal. He’d accepted your help, despite some reservations, and the two of you had formed a partnership.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fifteen minutes limp by, and dark thoughts start to swirl in your mind. The work Sans does is dangerous. He’s good, but not perfect 0 he can be careless; overconfident. That’s the whole reason he needs you around. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You turn around on your bar stool and lean heavily on the counter. Grillby takes your glass and slides you some water instead, which you thank him for. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dogamy walks up and orders drinks for the whole pack. He turns to you with a pitying look. “Where’s yer man, little bird? Ain’t like Sans to stand ya up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You shrug, trying to seem more annoyed than anxious. “Knowing him, he probably took an afternoon nap and forgot to set an alarm.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The wolfish monster titles his head quizzically. “It’s almost 9 pm?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“An afternoon sleep, then.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He chuckles at that, shaking his head in agreement. “He always was good at sleeping the day away. Kinda glad I don’t have’ta pick up the slack for ‘im anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, now that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> job,” you mutter under your breath. You stab at the ice in your glass with your fresh, un-chewed straw. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing. Enjoy your drinks.” Dogamy gathers them in his huge clawed paws and brings them back to the table where his pack waits. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You slump and let out a long sigh. Behind the bar, Grillby crackles in sympathy. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Another ten minutes pass, and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally </span>
  </em>
  <span>feel his magic nearby. You have to remind yourself not to look too relieved. As far as anyone else in the bar is aware, Sans isn’t there yet. You push your drink back toward Grillby.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Be a dear and watch that for me, will you? I need to use the ladies’ room.” He nods, and you hop down off the barstool. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You head to the back of the bar, through a swinging door where the bathrooms are. You walk right past them to the end of the hall, where you use your copy of Grillby’s key to let yourself into the storage room. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There, leaning heavily on a stack of wooden crates, is Sans.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t look good.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s hunched over a bit, one hand braced against the boxes and the other over his chest, as if trying to calm a heartbeat he doesn’t have. Luminous drops of sweat drip down his skull, and you can hear a very faint rattling. When he turns to look at you, his eye-lights are mere pin-pricks in their sockets.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Still, he forces a sharp-toothed smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“hey, there, tansy. fancy seein’ you here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You cross the room, pulling aside an empty crate for him to sit on. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You look like shit.” You’re tempted to ask what the hell happened to him, but you know better.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He takes a seat - slowly, wincing as if his entire body hurts. “ouch...and here i thought i looked pretty good. i dressed up all fancy-like for our date an’ everythin’.” He gestures to the brand-new vest with his free hand, still covering part of it with the other. “today’s our anniversary, y’know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh? Is that what we’re going with this time?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“yep.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Funny, I could’ve sworn we started ‘dating’ in the fall…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...oh...yeah, i guess we did. ah, well. ain’t like it matters.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Still, it would’ve been nice to have a heads-up. I feel underdressed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“don’t sweat it, sweetheart. ya look </span>
  <em>
    <span>divine.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He winces, and then chuckles humorlessly. “speakin’ of </span>
  <em>
    <span>holy</span>
  </em>
  <span>…” he removes his hand from his chest, revealing a not-very-surprising bullet hole.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You lean in, pushing his arms out of the way. You brush your fingers over the fabric, noting how close it is to his sternum. Without thinking, you move to unbutton his vest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He laughs, “hey, hey, at least buy me a drink first!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you rather I make you undress yourself?” you ask, rolling your eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sans’s eye-lights dart to his hand, shaking a bit where he holds it out of your way. “...nah. gettin’ all gussied up was enough work for me. have at it.” he lowers his arms and rests his hands on the crate and rolling his shoulders back to give you more room to work.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Once you’ve got his rib cage exposed, you find that his injury is more severe than you expected. Bullets usually go right through him - one benefit of having so much space between his bones - but this one was a near-miss. There’s a chip in the bone, and a hairline fracture to go with it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That alone wouldn’t usually be enough to shake Sans. He’s seen worse, but this was...a close call. If it hadn’t glanced off his sternum, it would’ve hit his SOUL. He’s no weakling, but a direct hit like that would’ve been the end of him, for sure. Man-made bullets do a lot more damage than monster-made ones.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You squeeze your eyes shut, banishing the thought of him being reduced to dust from your mind. It doesn't matter what could’ve happened. He’s here, still in one piece, and you have a job to do.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You reach for your SOUL, calling forth the magic that lives there. It flares to life, a green glow emanating from the palms of your hands. Opening your eyes, you press gently against Sans’s sternum.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sighs, relaxing into your touch. He lifts a hand from the crate and places it on your hip, drawing you closer to him. His eye sockets close, and he presses his teeth to the top of your head, holding there for a moment before moving to rest his skull on your shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You fight to stay composed while your face heats and your stomach does somersaults. You don’t dare say anything for fear he might pull away. The last thing you want is to ruin a moment like this, where his affection isn’t just for show.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You’re fine putting on an act, pretending to be his girl. It’s a part you’re more than willing to play. You suggested it, after all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Still, a not-so-silent part of you wishes it were real. That his attention, his touch, could be more than just a passing indulgence. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You make quick work of the fracture, leaving no trace. There’s nothing you can do about the chipped part, but you doubt anyone who doesn’t already know about San’s line of work will notice. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sans straightens his spine, releasing his grip on you. He seems much steadier now, and his eye-lights are their usual vibrant red again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“thanks, darlin’. don’t know what i’d do without ya.” he says, sticking his hands in his pockets.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Die, probably.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He laughs a little too hard at that, like it caught him off guard. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“yeah, probably. be back in a few. gotta go change into somethin’ fresh.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“By ‘fresh,’ do you mean your ratty old jacket and some basketball shorts?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“ya know me so well…” he says with a fake sniffle, pretending to wipe a tear from his cheekbone. Between one blink and the next, he’s gone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“At least I won’t have to worry about being underdressed,” you mutter to yourself. You need another drink…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Green magic - healing magic - comes from a place of love. To heal someone, you have to care about them. The more you care, the more effective your healing becomes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That’s probably why it had been such a rare talent in the underground. Not a lot of love to go around down there. If you were good at it, you kept quiet about it, and you never, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span>, healed a stranger.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Apparently, human mages don’t have the same reservations. It’s possible that, not being as in tune with their SOULs as monsters, they didn’t realize how much they gave away about themselves when they used green magic on a monster.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tansy had no idea.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The first time she’d healed Sans - back in that alleyway, almost three years ago, now - her healing magic had come from a place of love for all monsters. She cared about their wellbeing. He could tell that there was nothing personal about it, nothing specifically aimed at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t until a full year into their arrangement that he started to pick up on how she felt about him. Respect and concern turned into warmth and affection. It wasn’t just that she cared about monsters anymore. Sans could sense that she was pulling her green magic from a place inside her SOUL reserved for him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That’s around when she suggested pretending to be a couple. The way she explained it, this new arrangement would kill two birds with one stone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>First, it would give them a built-in excuse for why they spent so much time together. It wouldn’t be weird that they knew each other so well if they were an item. Besides, most of the people that knew them expected them to get together eventually, anyway.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Second, and much more importantly, it would give Sans a solid alibi. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It might’ve started as a ruse, but the more time he spent with her, playing up the schmaltz, the more he grew to enjoy it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Despite her undeniable feelings - which she still believed she was keeping to herself - she’d played her part perfectly. Putting on an act in front of Sans’s friends and complete strangers alike. Laughing at his good jokes, groaning at the bad ones, and swatting at him when he strayed into lewd territory. Slipping away with him, making sure that at least one person saw them leave together…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was all so real. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sans so desperately wished it could be. He knew he was crossing the line a bit, with the way he touched her when they were alone. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> how she felt and wished she would just </span>
  <em>
    <span>act</span>
  </em>
  <span> on it already, but she was adamant about keeping some distance between them. With no insight in her thought process, only her emotions, he couldn’t move forward. He didn’t want to ask, either, for fear of ruining what they already had.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For the time being, it was real enough. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Inspired by popatochisps's headcanons. </p>
<p>This got out of hand. It's so much longer than a drabble. I'm not sorry. </p>
<p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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